


Returning Home

by riventhorn



Category: Outcast - Rosemary Sutcliff, SUTCLIFF Rosemary - Works
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-04-03 04:52:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4087645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riventhorn/pseuds/riventhorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU where Jason escapes before being enslaved and makes his way to Britain where he meets Beric.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Returning Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amyfortuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/gifts).



> A treat for amyfortuna!

Jason swept his brush along the curve of the boat’s helm, leaving a streamer of blue in its wake. It was not quite the right shade, not quite the same as the hyacinths that he remembered growing in his mother’s garden back in _Hellas_. Debt and the threat of enslavement had driven him away from those shores to this backwater of the Empire. No one knew him here, and he spoke Latin and pretended that he had come from Thrace. He could not speak to anyone about the boat he and his brother had painted to look like a mallard or tell them about the olive trees behind their house. He spent his days here at his workshop, painting and watching the comings and goings of the town, ate a solitary supper at a tavern, and then retired to bed. It was not a bad life, all things considered, but he could not help feeling lonely.

A sound caught his ear, and he looked up to find a young man standing a few feet away. The tunic he wore hung on his gaunt frame, and one of his wrists was bandaged. Jason was minded of a fox slinking on the edges of a barnyard, wary of the smell of men and yet drawn by the promise of an easy meal. If he spoke too suddenly or loudly, he felt that this stranger would dart away, fleeing back to the wild.

“Good day,” he said mildly, not stopping the slow, steady sweep of his brush over the wood.

The stranger hesitated and then drew a step closer. “Hello,” he said cautiously, hand straying towards the bandage on his wrist before he flinched and forced it back to his side. 

“Are you interested in a commission?” Jason asked, although he could not imagine that could be the case.

The stranger shook his head. “No, I only…” He paused and then finished softly, “The colors caught my eye—and the geese.” He pointed to the fresco that Jason had painted on the wall of the workshop of a string of wild geese flying swiftly over the spring green of the marsh. 

Jason smiled. “It is a good thing to see, is it not? The geese returning home in the spring?”

The stranger’s breath caught in his throat. “Only if you have a home to return to as well,” he whispered, fists clenching.

“Sa, sa.” Jason nodded. “It is a hard thing to be without a home. Or far from the land that still holds that name in your heart,” he added.

“And even if you are able to return,” the stranger said, his eyes still fixed on the fresco, “it may be that there is no place for you anymore.”

If Jason ever went home, it would all have changed—his parents must surely be dead by now, and his brother probably had a fine wife and children. Old friends would have left, and new people would have arrived. Nothing would be as it was.

On an impulse, Jason picked up a spare brush and held it out to the young man. “If you have nothing better to do this morning than stare at the fresco on my wall, you might lend a hand here.”

The stranger looked startled, but after a moment, he took the brush and shuffled over to stand by the boat. 

“My name is Jason. What are you called?”

The young man dipped the brush into the paint. “Beric,” he replied.

*

Beric had left after an hour or so, and Jason had not expected to see him again. But a few days later, when he was inside the workshop mixing paint, a clatter of breathless footsteps came running and stopped at his door. He turned to find Beric standing there, clutching a bundle of whimpering fur in his arms. 

“Beric!” Jason said, surprised. “What is this?”

“She was following me,” Beric said, holding the dog close to his chest. “And a pony kicked her. She…I…I cannot tell if she is hurt. My hands….” He trailed off and stared at Jason, miserable and lost. 

“I will see what I can do.” Jason motioned for him to bring the dog into his sleeping cell and lay her on the bed. Beric hovered anxiously while Jason probed the dog’s leg and shoulder. She cried a little but did not growl. “I think it is only tender,” Jason said at last. “Some rest will cure that easily enough.”

Beric bent over her, petting her silky ears. Jason watched the two of them, wondering why Beric had brought the dog here of all places.

“Both of you look as though you could do with something to eat and a bit of sleep.” He hesitated. “Have you…nowhere to stay, Beric?”

Beric’s shoulders tensed. “I had a place, but…I do not know if I can go back there.”

“Well, stay here for a bit, then. I will bring some goat’s milk and cheese for the two of you.”

“You do not have to,” Beric began. “I’m sorry to have intruded.”

“It is no bother.” Jason laid a careful hand on his arm. “I did not expect to see you again, but I am glad to have you here.”

Beric looked at him, searching his face for a lie. Finding none, he sank slowly down onto the bed. “I am no longer able to put much trust in men,” he said haltingly, “but I knew that you were kind and would not turn us away. I thought that of Justinius too, but now—” He cut off abruptly, head drooping.

Jason went and fetched the food and when both strays—for Beric and the little dog were very alike in their misery—had eaten, he said, “Who is Justinius, then?”

“He is the Commander who is draining the Marsh.” Beric’s hand strayed again to his bandaged wrist. “He found me and saved me, but I think that if he had known who I really was, he would not have done so.”

“If that be the case, then I suppose I will be finding a bigger bed,” Jason said, “and a blanket for your companion.” 

Beric stared at him, disbelieving. Jason smiled and covered Beric’s hand with his own. 

*

His two strays soon fell asleep, curled together on the bed. Jason went back to his work, trying to piece through what Beric had said. He was so engrossed that he did not notice he had a visitor until someone cleared their throat. “Are you Jason?” a deep voice asked.

Looking up, he found himself confronted with a soldier and a high-ranking one at that. Panic flared through him before he reminded himself that if anyone did come for him, it would certainly not be a centurion. 

“I am Titus Drusus Justinius,” the man said, “and I am wondering if you have seen a young man who goes by the name of Beric.”

Jason hesitated. “And why would you think that I might know him?”

Justinius’s face softened. “Because you have been the only person that Beric spoke of with a smile. He told me about your boat and your fresco. I thought that if there was anywhere he would go, it would be to you. At least,” he added, “I hoped that would be the way of it.”

“And if that were the way,” Jason said slowly, “what might you be wanting with him?”

“Only to explain and tell him that any hurt I have caused was not intended. And…to ask him to come home,” Justinius finished. He sighed. “But I will not take him anywhere against his will.”

Jason studied him a moment longer and then pointed towards his sleeping cell. “Beric is in there, along with a stray dog that he found.” He hesitated and then added, “I think that you mean more to him than anyone else in the world.” 

Justinius drew a breath, bowing his head, and then strode over the threshold. Soon, Jason heard the murmur of voices, and once Beric’s rising in distress before quieting. He drew his brush along the wood, turning it crimson, the same color as the anemones on the island. 

A while later, Justinius reappeared, Beric close by his side with the dog in his arms. Jason turned to look at them. 

“I—I am going back with Justinius,” Beric said, and the despair had left his eyes.

“I am glad to hear it,” Jason replied, “although I hope you will come back to see me.”

Beric flushed and smiled. “I should like that.” 

“And you must come visit us,” Justinius said to him. “Cordaella would be delighted to have a guest to feed.” 

“I will,” Jason promised. 

They left, and he went back to his painting, humming a song that he remembered hearing on the coast of Gallia as he made his way north. That evening, he lit a lamp and began mixing his paints, searching for the exact shade of reddish-gold that would match the color of Beric’s hair and a blue to capture the sea-storm brightness of his eyes.


End file.
